“The air in the house cools down at night, with no thermostat kicking on to moderate change. I’m back on wood stove duty, figuring my bedtime according to how late I want to stoke the fire, or how willing I am to wake up to a deep chill. I can’t really decide some nights, I’m just too tired. I suppose I chose to live in a world that pushes back on me, with demands. I don’t want things to get too cushy, but then again, I’m not in dire straits. So I hang on to what I can that won’t turn on me, what I truly can say is mine: the water boiling on the stove with zucchini in it, awaiting the arrival of pasta, plumbers scheduled for Friday, sheep cheese, a new string of Xmas lights, and wine. The house still reverberates with the echos of today’s band rehearsal, and I can feel the triumph of my having overcome a computer crash, and payed some overdue bills. Believe it or not, the harsh winds I left when I moved from Chelsea followed me over these mountain ridges. Didn’t even venture as far the garage today. It’ll be something when I get my borrowed John Deere Gator back from the dealership, with a plow attachment. I like this kind of living, where neighbors come over to use my clawfoot tub; an impromptu shot of whiskey, here and there. I can pick & choose how much I pollute my mind, here, or plant shrubs in December. Which i did, yesterday, in the snow, with a shovel. I’d like to say that was a first, but landscapers often find themselves with tubs of dug up ornamental specimens they’ve saved all summer, still in tubs after Thanksgiving. Not unsimilar to the sudden realization that if you don’t go shovel the yurt deck, the door won’t open for the rest of the winter. Or figuring out at midnight that if you don’t move the staging in the driveway, it will get buried and frozen to the ground. Stuff like that, yeah. This is why bird feeders take on a disproportionate importance to mental well being, in rural parts. Simple things, that don’t dysfunction really, unless bears get involved. And above all, I don’t want spring to take me too much by surprise. The more I can get ready for it now, the more the upcoming blizzards won’t be a plague, or a bummer. I’m willing to let the unused drainage pipe and the pile of bricks go under, but not the dry, 8x8 beams or shiplap lumber. We still need to make a wood box, and cover the gas vent, and screw the brackets to the shed doors, so they don’t blow off in a gale. Indoor work is the last thing to attend to. And I’m really proud of what’s happening there, too. I wouldn’t ever stop making music, or records or writing books. But normally all that has to be sidelined, if anything critical still lurks around the outbuildings. How we manage our inner and outer chaos, is truly, the blessing of the mundane: chores, sickness, arguments, tension, sleepless nights, loneliness, too much screen time. I guess any youthful dream of escaping to Tibet would have nothing on this incredible Vermont experience.”
